


And a Child Shall Lead Them

by Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, Gen, sappy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor/pseuds/Sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris tries to offer a little special Christmas cheer to Billy & Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Child Shall Lead Them

“Damn,” Chris Larabee swore quietly as his knife slipped and almost sliced deeply into the palm of his left hand. He took a moment to get a better grip on the blade and on the wood he was carving before continuing. With careful strokes, Chris cut off the last few chunks of wood that kept the object from having an identifiable shape. As he did, the gunman smiled a bit as he looked down at the image of a small woman, kneeling in his palm. Chris was happy with his carving abilities, taking in the small details of the woman’s face he had been careful to cut, making her seem calming and serene. Carefully, Chris took and placed her down amongst a pile of already carved figures. Some of the easily recognized shapes were horses, cows, and even a lamb or two, although Chris wasn’t sure about the small curls he had carved to make the impression of their curly wool. Beside the pile, a small shelter, made from a darker wood, sat. It had a roof and two pillars, along with a stall, making it look like a stable. 

Chris straightened up in the chair in his room, arching his back and stretching. His muscles complained loudly before melting into relief at the movement, followed by the even louder crack as his back snapped and popped like a whip. Chris shook his head, hoping his neck would follow the example, but nothing was coming. Setting down his knife, Chris reached up and jerked his head around to the side with his hands, smiling at the resounding pop it produced. He’d been sitting in the chair for most of the cold, wintry day, carving. He only had one thing left to carve. Reaching down, Chris picked up his last piece of wood; a small, light-colored piece. Turning it over in his hands, wondering where to begin, Chris finally touched his blade to it and began carving a small child in a manger.

As he worked, he thought back to a few weeks ago. He and Billy had been out on an errand. Actually, he’d been the one on the errand; Billy had just tagged along for his company. It made the gunman feel both good and terrible for the attention he got from Billy. It was almost like he was betraying Adam’s memory. And yet, he knew that he was not trying to make Billy a replacement for his son, so what harm could it do? Chris had been returning something to Josiah at the church when Billy had spotted it. Nestled carefully between two small potted cactus, at the front of the church, was a small, nativity scene. Chris had seen how Billy’s eyes had lit up when he’d seen it. The boy had been extra careful not to touch or mess with the calming portrait of characters. Once Chris had finished his business with Josiah, he’d walked up behind the boy, still enthralled with the tiny characters.

****

“Billy, ya ready to go?” Chris almost added a ‘son’ to that, but couldn’t. His throat choked up at it, both in fear of what it meant to him in the case of Adam, as well as how Billy would take it, missing his pa. The youngster nodded, gazing longingly at the wooden figures. Chris had cleared his throat nervously. Churches had always made him feel that way. As if he didn’t belong. He wasn’t good enough to be in this place. Twirling his hat in his hands to keep them busy, he squatted down on one knee beside the little boy, looking at the scene.

It was a simple scene, with all the characters of the story present. The three wisemen, or kings, Chris had once heard them called. A couple of boys with sheep by them, the sheperds, Chris figured. There were two or three cows, donkeys, and other stable-biding creatures. And in the center, kneeling were two people, a man and a woman, and a small babe in a manger. Mary, Joseph and the Christ-child. And hung on a nail in the top of the crude manger behind the scene was an angel, with long robes and wide-spread wings.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Chris asked quietly, looking carefully at the boy. There was something in his eyes. Almost like he was feeling a loss. Billy just nodded.

“Yeah. We used to have one like this. My fa-... My father made it. We lost it when we moved to town after.....” The tow-headed youth said no more, but Chris could easily see how much the loss of it bothered him. “I was gonna try and make one for Mama, but I haven’t been able to get it right. I seen her looking at one in a store when we was visiting Grandpa. I know it wouldn’t be the same as the one Daddy made, but......” Chris just smiled and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder, understanding perfectly the act of wanting to make the ‘woman’ in his life happy. Billy turned to go and Chris rose with him, not even feeling that hitch in his breath this time as Billy reached up to take his hand off his shoulder and hold tightly to it with his own. And as they reached the church doors, Billy stepped on through while Chris stared intently at the manger scene. He had a lot of work to do.

****

Chris paused to blow away the small slivers of wood that were gathering around the small head. He’d considered carving out a manger and a small baby to lay inside it, but figured that would be too easy to lose one or the other. So instead, he had hollowed out most of the manger, leaving only the wood directly underneath the carving of the child in place, making it seem as if the baby were laying there instead of being attached. The gunman looked at the piece with a critical eye. He’d tried to make the child appear as if he was sleeping, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what it looked like. But, asleep or not, at least it looked peaceful. He was just putting the finishing creases along the lower half of the child, making him appear to be wrapped in blankets.

“Damn!” Chris said as his knife slipped again. But this time his knife didn’t *almost* cut into his palm. Chris watched as the slice in his skin quickly welled up with warm, red blood, leaking out to fall on his pants and boots. A second later, the pain hit, making it throb with every beat of his heart as it pushed more blood to the surface.

“Stupid fool,” Chris murmured as he reached over and grabbed a rag off his wash-stand, wrapping it tightly around his palm. The knife had gone in about an inch below his left thumb, leaving a slice that was almost two inches long. It didn’t look to be too deep; just deep enough to make him bleed. Larabee added to himself. The blood was slowly seeping through the cloth, but not at an alarming rate. It wasn’t enough to worry Nathan with, and that was all that mattered. Besides, if he went to Nathan, the healer would ask how it happened. And Chris knew that Mary and Nathan talked frequently. He didn’t want anything to leak out about where this little gift had come from. For he didn’t plan on giving it to them in person. Oh no. His plan included walking to their door tonight, leaving it on the step, knocking, and then running like hell. 

Chris could feel the dull ache coming from his hand, but it wasn’t getting any worse, so he decided to continue. As he picked up the knife and wood, he noticed some blood still on the blade. He quickly wiped it off on the cloth around his hand and turned to inspect the wood. Chris almost cursed again, louder and longer this time, before he realized the futility of it. There was nothing that would be gained by it. Standing, he moved to the wash bowl and wet a clean corner of the cloth in his hand before taking it and scrubbing fiercely at the sides and one small hand-shaped chunk of wood, trying valiantly to get the blood out of the soft, white wood. But it was no use. The bright red stain of his blood just faded to a duller color.

The gunman sat down in his chair again, looking at the tiny figure in his hand. There was no way the stain would come out of the wood, and it was too late for him to make another. Hell, even if he’d had the time he didn’t have the wood. He’d had to scrounge around to find anything worth using in the first place. Chris carefully made the last cut with his knife and sighed. The blood was most obvious on the small child’s hand. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was Christmas Eve and he would just have to make do with it. Perhaps he could fashion another one after Christmas and exchange it sometime. Probably in the same manner in which he’d leave this one.

Checking his hand once again, Chris tucked all the characters into the stable, linging it with a bandana to make sure none fell out. Three wisemen, two sheperds, lambs, horses, cows, angel... That had been one of the hardest. Chris hoped he never had to carve anything with wings again in the near future. Mary, Joseph, and the babe in the manger. Slipping on his duster and hat, Chris exited his room, checking the hall carefully before proceeding. His green eyes were constantly moving, more out of habit than anything else, but also watching to see if anyone was around to witness this. He doubted it. Everyone else was with family, be it in town or out. Nathan and Josiah were busy making sure the church was ready for the Christmas service in the morning.Vin and JD had both been all but kidnapped by Nettie and Casey Wells to spend Christmas Eve with them. Buck was certainly not lacking in the offer to spend the night with one of his female acquaintenances. Ezra had declined any information on his plans, saying that he would follow a tradition set long ago by his mother. Chris knew that Mary would have gladly invited him to her home for the celebrations if he’d given any indication of being acceptive to the offer.

As he reached the eerily deserted street, Chris again checked his surroundings. Approaching the office that was the front to Mary’s small home, Chris walked around to the back where the door was and quietly set his package down. Removing the bandana, he made sure once again that all the pieces were there. Tucking the bandana in his pocket he reached up and rapped quickly on the door before moving quickly back into the shadows.

Mary opened the door, her laughter carrying out through into the cold December air. “Billy, don’t touch those presents yet! Hello...?” Chris could see her searching around for who had knocked on her door. he thought, A silent sigh of relief crossed his mind as she moved to step out and her foot bumped the tiny stable. Mary put a hand to her mouth as she knelt, reaching out with the other to lightly trace it over the wood. 

“Who is it, Mama? Is it Chris?!” Billy came running up to the door beside his mother and dropped on his knees by the wooden figures. Chris felt his heart twinge, both from Billy’s excited cry, expecting him, as well as the sudden tenderness that touched his face as he reached in to pull out the kneeling Mary, giving it to his mother. Chris watched as Mary examined her namesake before putting it down to look at the baby Jesus Billy held up to her. Chris twinged as he saw her examine the blood stain. Billy looked up at her.

“Do you think God gave this to us, Mama? I was wanting one awful bad since me and Chris saw the one in the church. It looks almost like the one Daddy made.” Mary reached a hand up to wipe away a tear before nodding her head, murmuring “maybe”. She looked around for a few more minutes, trying to figure out where it had come from. The gunman held absolutely still as her eyes passed over where he stood, holding his breath until she bent down and gathered the stable in her arms. Ushering Billy inside she stopped and turned back to the night. Chris could see the tears on her cheeks as she did so.

“Thank you,” she whispered before going inside and closing the door. Chris breathed, finally, letting out his nervousness. Finally, he felt the cold, the pain from his hand, and the warmth of seeing his gift appreciated. Turning, he walked back to the street and towards the saloon, knowing that Inez would have left it open for any that had no where else to go on Christmas Eve. As he pushed open the door, Chris looked around, finding the place almost empty. Almost.

“Good evening, Mr. Larabee.” Ezra’s southern drawl didn’t sound surprised to see him, but Chris wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to tell when the gambler wasn’t putting on an act. Ezra held up a bottle in his direction and Chris wordlessly accepted the invitation, pulling out a chair with his good hand. Grabbing a glass from the table, he filled it and downed it, feeling the warmth from the whiskey spread through him, dulling the pain in his hand and the pain of memories in his heart. Chris looked over to where Ezra sat, the bottle between them and a deck of cards spread out before him in a pattern for a solitaire game. He raised an eyebrow. So this was the tradition his mother had taught him. Perhaps it was time for a new tradition.

“Mind if I join the game?” he asked. Ezra looked taken aback for a moment before allowing a slow, but real smile, to cover his face. Gathering up his cards, he began to shuffle them again.

“I’d be honored...Chris.” The gunman poured them both another glass and sat back to listened to the soft riffling of the cards as the world slipped into sleep around them.

***

The sun shone brightly over the small town of Four Corners, warming the people as they stirred from their beds. Children ran from their rooms to find small bundles wrapped tightly in their stockings. Parents watched with joy as they tore into the presents Santa had brought, enjoying this time of happy leisure before they prepared for the Christmas services. Cries of happiness and carefree play were spread throughout the town, carrying over the air. But there was one man that was not smiling at the laughing children. 

Chris Larabee sat in a chair on the boardwalk in front of his boarding house, sipping at a strong cup of black coffee, needing it to ease the ache in his head brought on by lack of sleep, too much whiskey with Ezra, and a deeper ache inside him with the memories of Christmases past. Not only his own Christmas memories, either. Ezra had been unusually talkative last night while the two of them had shared a bottle and a pack of cards for Christmas Eve. The man had told him that his tradition had begun of waiting with a glass of milk for his mother to show up at the latest drop off point to be with him for Christmas. But, something always came up to interfere. As Ezra got older, the milk was gradually replaced with other beverages. At the age of 16 no one cared when he sat to the side of the family dinner, nursing a tumbler of cheap whiskey. If it had been the expensive stuff, Ezra had mused, they probably would have noticed. Since then he’d always followed the waiting game, not really waiting for his mother, but not having any other family to pull him away from it.

Listening to the gambler explain his childhood, Chris had been forced to look at the kind of father and husband he had been. Of course, there had been times when he’d had to go away, but he’d always returned as quickly as possible, making sure to bring a special gift to them. He’d not held back on showing how much he loved them every day, making it a point to tell them every chance he got. He remembered the gleam that lit Sarah’s eye when he said those three words. The feeling of brushing her black curls back from her forehead, kissing it lightly before moving down to capture her lips. He could still here Adam’s gleeful reply of “I love you too, Daddy!”. The boy had always been happy at this time of year, waking up almost with the sun to rush into the front room, seeing his stocking laid beneath their simply decorated tree, whispering in wonder as he looked through his newest treasures. That feeling of wonder as Adam had brought each new thing to his lap, showing it to him with proud pleasure.

Chris took a longer pull at his coffee, blinking back the mistyness in his eyes. Those were the only Christmases he wanted to remember. He didn’t want to dwell on the empty holidays afterwards. Holidays spent in a dark room with a bottle, or out in an alley, his brain slogged with whiskey. Empty holidays. His stocking had been empty on Christmas morning for a long time, and with it his life. He knew he would never forget his wife or his child; they were permantly in his heart. But perhaps it was time to see if he could find something to make him look forward to Christmas again.

“Chris!” The cry made him turn sharply, switching the coffee in his right hand to his left so that it was free to drop to his gun if need be. But there was no need. Billy Travis continued on his headlong flight down the boardwalk towards the gunman. Chris relaxed a bit and switched the coffee cup back, feeling his hand throb a bit from the sudden pressure; that had been why the cup had been in the other hand in the first place. He’d tended to it carefully last night, wrapping it tightly in an old shirt. It still hurt, but it showed no signs of infection. he grumbled to himself, remembering the fiery pain as he dunked it into a pan of water and whiskey mixed together, cleansing it before wrapping it with a pad doused in pure whiskey over the cut itself. The gunman set down his cup on the boardwalk on the other side of his chair before Billy came running to throw his arms around his neck.

“Merry Christmas, Chris!” Larabee patted Billy on the back, putting a small smile on his face for the boy’s benefit. He could see Mary coming up behind her son, a soft expression covering her face. She was dressed in a light pink dress with white lace on the sleeves and hem. Chris barely had time to register how it brought out the slight color of her cheeks before Billy raised his head and begun tugging on his arm, pulling him out of the chair.

“Slow down, son. What’s the hurry?” Chris was amazed at how easily the word had slipped out of his mouth. He looked up to find Mary standing there. She had heard him say it...he was sure. However, neither of them seemed upset. Instead, Mary just smiled slightly, blushing a bit as his gaze took the time to travel her form. Billy continued to pull on his sleeve and Chris moved his left hand out to steady the boy as he stumbled a bit.

“Chris, you should see what someone left on the step last night. It was a nativi...natitiv...”

“Nativity,” his mother supplied, smiling at the boy as he nodded enthusiasticly. Billy continued to explain the beauties of the gift that had been given them, but Chris wasn’t paying much attention. Instead, his eyes dropped to where Mary’s rested....on his bandaged hand. Her eyes shone with understanding and Chris felt the slight, unfamiliar heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

“Chris, you’re coming to the church, ain’t ya? Mama, can Chris sit with us?” The gunman found himself torn. It would be so easy to say no; make up an excuse the boy could believe and not be bothered. And yet, this could be his time to start filling that stocking up again. He looked to the blonde woman who stood beside them.

“Yes, Billy. If Mr. Larabee is going?” The gunman stood still for a moment. Looking down, he examined his clothes. Black pants, blue-striped shirt, black coat. His hat hung from his throat and he could feel a slight breeze catching at his hair. He looked presentable enough on the outside. Perhaps it was time to work on the inside. Chris closed his eyes and reached out with his right hand for the youngster to take it. Opening them, the gunman hoped he had effectively hidden the range of emotions he was feeling from the widow’s searching eyes. He offered his left arm, blushing again as she slipped her arm easily around his elbow, careful to avoid hitting his bandaged hand.

“Thank you,” she said. Chris recognized the tone from last night and knew that she understood. He nodded once and allowed Billy to lead him and Mary down the street towards the church, nodding hello and murmuring seasons’ greetings as they passed others on their way to the same destination.

***

Josiah stood just outside the door of the church, shaking hands and greeting the people as they poured into the church. Nathan was busy helping with seating and jackets inside, taking care to make sure everyone was comfortable. A small, mischievious grin graced his lips as he watched a man walking slowly towards the church, still tucking his shirt into his pants, hat held between his teeth, hair looking like it had just come off the pillow.

“Mornin’ Brother Buck. It seems you had a Merry Christmas.” The gregarious cowboy had the grace to look down before shaking the other’s hand, offering a wink as he did so.

“Well, I always try, Josiah. I always try and spread around any joy ol’ Buck can give.” Josiah just shook his head and turned to greet more as they came in. A buckboard rattled down the street and Josiah squinted to make out the occupants, his eyes warming as he did so. He waited as they climbed down, the men offering a helping hand to the ladies, before linking arms and stepping forward. 

“A pleasure to see you again, ma’am. You too, Brother Vin, ” Josiah said as Vin and Nettie Wells reached the church steps. Vin whipped off his hat, looking a bit nervous as he did so. He was minus his hide coat, instead wearing a heavy red shirt under his suspenders. The tracker offered his hand to Josiah and seemed to take comfort from the stronger man’s grip.

“Mornin’ Josiah,” he said quietly, as was his way on most things. Nettie offered the preacher a peck to the cheek before allowing Vin to lead her inside. JD and Casey came up next, JD holding his bowler in one hand.

“Josiah,” the two said, blushing as they apologized for speaking at the same time. Josiah returned the greeting, slapping JD on the back as he strode past. A few others strode in before a southern voice came across the air, causing Josiah to turn in part shock and part joy.

“Good morning, Mr. Sanchez. And might I offer you the tidings of a joyous holiday?” Ezra said, standing at the bottom of the steps, his hat held loosely in his hands, almost blending in against the darkness of his black waist-coat.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Brother Ezra.” The two stood, neither moving. One fearing what he was about to offer and another fearing what he was about to offer would be rejected. Finally, Josiah broke the silence. “Ezra, ya gonna stand there during the service or come inside?” The gambler seemed to ease at that for a moment before looking down at the ground.

“Actually, sir, I was coming to inquire whether or not you had ever found the services of a pianist?” Josiah shook his head. He had hunted all through the town, but no one had felt compelled to admit to being able to play or they had not known how. Ezra took a deep breath before continuing. “In that case, Mr. Sanchez, I have come to offer my services to you in said regard. I was taught to play in my youth. I’m sure I have forgotten some things, but it shall come back to me rather quickly. That is, if you are willing to accept the offer from a sinner of the largest regard.” Josiah stood stock still, staring at the bent head of the southerner. Of all people, Josiah had least expected Ezra to be forthcoming for this. He realized that the gambler was nervously twisting his hat and almost kicked himself for his hesitation.

“Ezra, I’d be grateful for ya to do it.” The gambler looked up, almost a bit shocked that he’d been accepted. He slowly climbed the steps, smiling a bit as he got to the older man. Ezra held out a hand to him, but Josiah ignored it, instead pulling the gambler in for a quick, but firm hug. Ezra did not jerk from the embrace, instead enjoying the feeling of belonging it gave him. As he pulled away, his green eyes met the preacher’s pale blue ones in understanding and thanks before he went to reacquaint himself with another friend of the past. He hoped he remembered quickly.

Josiah turned back to the last few that were heading towards the church, smiling at the wonders that God was working on the people around him. There was only one missing now... A sight caught his eye and his smile grew even larger. he thought to himself, looking at the three people almost to the church. Mary was smiling, her hair golden in the warm, Christmas Morning sun, her arm comfortably laid on the black-clad arm of Chris Larabee. The gunman was laughing, his head thrown back as he did so, the sun making his hair and skin seem lighter against the dark clothing he wore. And pulling eagerly on the man’s arm, leading him towards the church, little Billy Travis was going on and on about something that had obviously excited him. The picture of the three was incredible, both to his mind and to his heart. As he watched the three head towards him, a verse sprung to the front of his mind. He whispered it quietly to the Christmas Morning air, his smile growing wider with each word.

“The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will like down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together, and a little child shall lead them.”

THE END


End file.
